The Fairy's Broken Wing
by Whoops-C
Summary: [Reader x Erza] Love is a terrible thing. Love is a wonderful thing. I wouldn't know, because no one had ever loved me. That is, until the Queen of Fairies, the Champion of Fairy Tail, Titania herself, became my big sister. This is my story of my time with Fairy Tail, of my birth, my life, and my death there. Thank you, Fairies. {Gruvia, Gajevy, Jerza.}[Platonic reader x Erza]
1. Prologue

Night is cruel

It doesn't matter where you are. You can be sitting safe at home with a screen before you, you can be lying in bed with a blanket around you, you could be living in a palace filled with thousands of guards.

You could be living in a kingdom filled with mages, who hold power and strength in their hands.

Because even if nothing happens in one night, doesn't mean the danger has passed, that you will wake up without a knife between your ribs or a bullet in your head. It means that the terror has occurred to someone else.

Night is kind.

It provides a refuge to the terror of the day, it gives promise of a new beginning in the morning, it offers sleep to those who seek it, as well as cover from those who hold night in their hearts.

Night is my refuge. Night is my savior.

Night is my enemy. Night is my torturer.

But even night can be made joyous when you find people made of light. For even night hesitates to strike at fairies.

This is my story. The story of how I conquered the night. How the night became my shield.

Thanks to the Queen of Fairies, Titania.


	2. Chapter 1: Phoenix Haired

Year X879, Edolas.

I, Columbae Tondeo, do write these words by my own hand.

It has been ten years. Ten years since I was taken into Edolas, land of no magic. Thirty years since I was rescued out of the hell hole of Clover Town's slums, by Erza and her accomplices- no, not accomplices- friends. Family. Twenty-one years since the Grand Magic Games, where I almost lost my life. Thirteen years since I was cursed.

But the curse is weak, and I grow strong. It wanes every day, and every day I feel stronger, fuller, alive. Ironically, each day the curse weakens is another pull closer towards my death. It would not be long until I am gone, despite the best attempts of my Edolas friends, to administer medicine and remedies as I lie here in bed.

So I write. One day, I pray that these pages reach back, back to my friends. Back to my family. Back to Fiore, to Fairy Tail. And one day, they will know that they were not in vain. That I died happily, and I love them all with all my heart.

Fairy Tail Mage, Columbae Tondeo, child of Titania.

* * *

The crude smell of alcohol was always something that I hated.

And I lived in the stuff. For as long as I could remember, I lived in the cellar of the tavern where my brother worked, cleaning glasses out of sight and sweeping floors. I slept on blankets made from the handkerchiefs of sympathetic or drunk customers, between the iron monsters that belched foul smelling smoke and with bellies of flame that had to be fed every hour, so that they can cough out more whiskey for the loud voices above. I scrounged for every penny and coin I could get my hands on, staying out of sight of Mr. Dee, the owner of Patri's Pub. I begged for bread on the streets during my free time, hiding behind trashcans from people tired of seeing me. Every day, a test of survival and bravery, all while wallowing in the sour, bitter smell of alcohol that would never leave.

But I had a retreat. My older brother, though his emotions are dead and his liveliness is gone, would climb down the ladder once a week, hands wrinkled and calloused, hair limp and filthy, cheeks sallow and colorless. Despite his exhaustion, he would sit and talk, and tell me stories of fairies and monsters and dragons and phoenixes, tails scarlet like fire and eyes as fierce as tigers. He would look alive, for the first time in a long time, as he talked and remembered the glorious bards of Elevyn the Brave, Prudence the Righteous, Lillivan the Beauteous, Carina the Scandalous, knights and mages and royalty alike who could destroy enemies with one blow and save entire cities from destruction with one word. Unicorns and pollywomps and pichikus who had healing horns, bellies made of mud, tails that acted like lightning rods and golden hearts.

My favorite stories had always been the ones with the phoenix, and there were many. There were so many stories of how a phoenix was born, what they could do, and how they would die. A phoenix was a tear shed by the sun. A phoenix is hatched from a star. A phoenix is made every time someone makes fire for the first time. Phoenixes are borns from bird eggs dropped in dragons' nests. Phoenixes are a special type of fairy, fairies that have held the weight of other's lives and have had their hearts crushed into phoenix diamond hearts by the pressure. Their red is the red of their own shed blood, their fire is their own will to live.

My life was a cycle. A phoenix's life and death and birth, working in the day, collapsing into dreamless slumber at night, waking again in the morning to start anew. The only recluse was the stories, but even those were strained and short as the days wore on and the life was bled away from his eyes. To my young mind, I was trapped in an unending circle, no end in sight.

But the circle was broken, finally. When a black cat with a crimson sock stepped onto the streets of Clover.

* * *

"A black cat with a sock?"

The question was asked loud enough for me, sitting on the cellar steps right beneath the door, to hear loud and clear. I was supposed to be wiping down glasses, but the five (or six, including the funny blue animal that waddled around with them) strangers I had seen through the foggy cellar window were a boldly dressed set, loud and smiling and full of laughs. Two, a pink and black haired pair of boys, bickered and argued while a blue and a blond haired pair of girls sighed and talked and groaned, apparently about their crimson haired woman, their leader, I supposed, walked about with a confident air, dressed in silver armor embolized with a bright red mark, consisted of simple elegant lines in the shape of what looked like half an intricate heart. Upon further examination, I saw that it seemed nearly all of them bore such a mark, in different colors.

I was immediately fascinated. Even though I had never seen such people before, they gave off the sense of power. Not as in physical strength, though that much seemed obvious, but as in _magic._ An energy that could not be explained. A heat that was simultaneously hotter than flames, yet colder than ice. A sensation so strong it felt as if it was physical, but then as insignificant as a small itch. It was there and it wasn't. Existing yet never to have been created. Infinite potential and negative nothingness. Can I be blamed for being so curious, to peek out the trapdoor that separated me from them?

"Yes, a black cat with a sock. It's really a powerful mage with shape-shifting abilities, and they've stolen a very precious sock belonging to our client." The armored woman said, patiently.

"Hmph." Mr. Dee scratched the black stubble that coated their pudgy chin with dirty yellow fingernails, scrutinizing the little band, standing out so shockingly with their liveliness among the half-dead hangovers that so often lived in the pub. "Maybe I did see it."

"And?" The leader stood expectantly, gazing at Mr. Dee in a cool, controlled manner, like she knew she was the strongest in the room. And I didn't doubt it.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Dee muttered a curse and pulled a stool out from under the table, sitting down heavily with a sigh. The wood creaked dangerously beneath his weight. "You have to excuse my memory. I'm old, and seen better days… maybe, if I could have something to jog it a little…" His piggy black eyes glinted beneath thick brows.

"Oh come on! Erza, let me at him!" The pink haired boy leaped forward in protest, and looked ready to leap onto the table before being stopped by Erza's outstretched arm.

"Natsu. I'll take care of this." She reaches toward a pouch hanging on on her belt at the left side, and Mr. Dee leans forward eagerly.

Suddenly, in a flash of golden light, a sword materialized into her hand, And Mr. Dee shot back in alarm as a silver blade was suddenly held at his throat.

Immediately, a sound like shattering chandeliers and falling stones filled the the entire bar sprung into action, albeit rather sluggishly. Men grabbed bottles and broke them clumsily on tables, stools, and each other's' heads before standing crookedly, eyes bloodshot and backs bent.

The fear was wiped away by a smug smirk on Mr. Dee's face. It was the look of someone who though they won. "Ha! You're outnumbered, miss. You should've just paid me and left." He crows, before flinching at the look fixated upon him.

"Outnumbered, perhaps." One of them, Natsu, I assumed, ignited his clenched fists and illuminated the area around him with a crimson blue haired girl conjured living water out of nothingness, and the blond one brought out a humanoid...cow? Thing? With a golden key. The black haired boy, now pantless for some reason, had frost coating his hands and the area around his feet. "But numbers are worthless in battle."

What happened next wasn't a fight. It was a dance, where the moves were made of flames and ice and water, and the air was cleaved occasionally by a double-sided ax in the hands of the cow humanoid. Debris of tables, chairs, and tankards flew left and right. The men were no match, as they were thrown through the air like ragdolls. Shouts filled the air through the whirling carnage, and within minutes the inside of the pub looked like it had been demolished by a tornado.

Mr. Dee's face got paler, as he watched his pub get destroyed and his customers beat up. Erza turned back to him.

"Well?"

"Ah-um-alright, alright! But I don't know anything!" He squeaks, as Erza's eyes narrowed and the blade twitched like a live snake. A moment of stressful silence followed, before the sword disappeared in a flash of light once more.

"Natsu. Gray. Stop, we're leaving." The two boys, previously arguing about who had caused more destruction, stopped abruptly and sulked in an irritated fashion.

"Erza, wait. Are you sure about this? I don't think he's telling the truth." "Juvia agrees." The girl who had commanded the cow and the girl who had controlled water chimed in, concerned and worried.

"Not necessary, Lucy. If need be, we'll come back and ask again." She ends with a pointed glare that causes Mr. Dee to wither inside, then walks out. Her companions followed suit.

The oaken doors of the pub swung shut, sending a resounding echo through the wooden turtle-shell interior of the building. Following it was a silence, broken only by the groans and whimpers of the customers, as they lifted their bruised and battered bodies off of the floors.

I was suddenly aware of how I had opened the trapdoor almost entirely open, and before I duck away a large, meaty hand grabbed my wrist. I was hauled up to hang helplessly in the air, to stare at Mr. Dee's double chin and stone-dead eyes.

"Clean up. Now." He gruffed, and then dropped me on the ground next to the broom. He grabbed one of the undestroyed bottles and stomped upstairs, presumably to nurse himself into a stupor. My brother, who had been hiding behind the counter the whole time, walked over and helped me up, handing me the broom.

"Shh. It's okay. I'll help you." He murmurs, mouth turned into a gentle smile on his sallow face. But his eyes didn't match the expression, matching the eyes of an enraged eagle in emotion and color. He turns to the stragglers still stumbling about, like someone finding themselves on the moon and not knowing how they got there.

"Place is closed. Come on, out!" He shouts, foghorn voice carrying well through the large room, and many winced at the loud volume. But it works, and before long there was only broken tables, ruined chairs, smashed bottles.

I watch as he picked up a mop and start on the spilled drink, soaking up the amber liquid quickly and thoroughly before rinsing and repeating. I knew that I should get to work as well, clean up the broken shards of glass and splintered wood, but the image of that armored woman, with the scarlet hair of a phoenix, refused to leave my mind.

* * *

 **Well gosh darn I took a long time to finish this. And only two thousand words too, I feel awful.**

 **I want to say this will continue regularly and smoothly, but then I'd be lying. This was vent writing, pure vent, and I'm sorry for not putting as much effort as I should. But enjoy what I offer, and I hope your day is going a heck load better then mine.**

 **Criticism is welcomed, come one come all.**


End file.
